


Crucible

by Ven_the_Vandal



Category: Better Call Saul (TV), Breaking Bad & Related Fandoms
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Additional Tags to Be Added, Alcohol, Canon-Typical Violence, Crime, Drug trafficking, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Humor, Multi, Nacho being good with kids, Romance, Slow Burn, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-03 15:32:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10970184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ven_the_Vandal/pseuds/Ven_the_Vandal
Summary: Pre-BCS, then becomes Canon-Compliant later on.A former drug trafficker is pulled back into the world of planes, meth and guns; where the stakes are higher than ever. The Cartel has assigned Nacho to oversee her and ensure their product makes it to its intended destinations. How will the two fare as they work to get the job done?Will they be successful in achieving their goals or will it all just blow up in their faces?Formerly titled "Break the Mold"





	1. Mixed Signals

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I've had the idea for this for awhile now and I thought I'd give it a go. The first chapter or so will be introductions and plot to get the ball rolling, followed by more Nacho from that point onward. I'm new to AO3, so I hope everything looks alright. Please enjoy!

 

“What is he up to?” Ra whispers over to Sonya in the middle of the snack aisle, his voice low so as not to draw attention.

“Hm?” She hums in response, not looking up from the rack.

He’s caught her in the middle of picking chips for the evening. What exactly was she in the mood for? Sonya knew they were going to be sharing them, whatever it was. She settled on a brand of snack mix, it seemed to be the safest bet. After all, it appears to have stuff in it that they might each enjoy: Pretzels, Doritos, Cheetos, and Sun Chips.

“What?” She adds, finally turning and looking up at him.

“What do you think he’s doing over there?” Ra nods his head towards their other friend, Kane.

He’s standing a good ten feet away with his back to them, peeking around a pillar at something they can’t see.

“I don’t know,” She admits, laughing softly. “why don’t you go ask him."

“Maybe I will.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Great.” He tosses over his shoulder, a smirk in his words. “I’m going.”

“Hey,” She calls back over to him, catching him mid-stride. “I’m going with these; do you think we’ll want anything else here?”

“Oh, uh...” He stands there for a moment, considering his options. “how about some Funyuns?”

“I’ll keep my eye out.”

Ra, on a mission, strides over to their friend, his shoes squeaking on the tiled floor; and taps Kane lightly on the shoulder. A little startled, he turns around to face him, eyebrow raised. In the meantime, Sonya finds what she’s looking for; grabs the other bag of snacks and walks over to them in hopes to see what the commotion is about.

_What are you up to?_ Ra signs.

Kane’s eyes light up, thrilled with the idea to let them in on the joke. He moves his hands through the air. Starting with a tap twice of his fists, one over top of the other; the first tap one way, the next tap rotated the slightest bit different from the first. He then smiles flicking his nose, following its shape downward with his index and middle finger until they return to be flush with his palm, thumb straight out. And finally, points to his head, tracing an imaginary line around it in an egg shape.

_Making faces._

_For who?_ Sonya inquires, stepping closer to take a peek.

Around the corner is a little boy with big green eyes just a few aisles down. He was maybe 3 years old, strapped into a cart and left unattended, while whoever he belonged to went to grab something in another part of the convenience store.

With some time to kill, the three of them continue the game, much to the child’s delight. At least until his parent or whatever shows up to get him. Sonya wasn’t even sure how long he’d been there for, but the kid didn’t seem to mind. It’s upsetting. Even she can understand where they might be coming from with their train of thought. But come on, this is pushing their luck; especially when the store they’ve left him by himself in is on a rougher part of town. Not to say that most of the people milling around would hurt the little tyke anyway. But she’d learned it was really that one percent that you needed to watch out for.

Their fun is cut short when a stern-looking brunette emerges from another aisle, a few items in hand. She’s caught Kane with his eyes crossed, mouth contorted into a snarl and the kid still laughing away. The woman rushes over to her child, scowling at them with disgust and ushers him away to another section. The little boy looks back at them as their leaving with those wide green eyes, waving bye as his mother continues down around the corner.

The three of them just stand there, at a loss for words at what just happened. That was uncalled for. Kane shoves his hands into his pockets, kicking at the tiles. Ra sighs, scratching the back of his neck.

That was the standard reaction to them when they went places. At a glance, they weren’t exactly the friendliest looking bunch by most people’s standards. And it just had to be the one night of the week they’re going out drinking and to have some fun. For the first time in forever, Kane is wearing jeans and a shirt that doesn’t his mosaic of ink that covers him from the neck down. He spends most days in high collared dress shirts with sleeves, to conceal his tattoos from view and help him to avoid the topic of their existence altogether. Ra has his mohawk spiked, accompanied with some equally deadly piercings in his eyebrow, nose and tongue. And Sonya had decided to twirl her hair back into a bun, with a tank top and some dark jeans. Along with a bit of jewelry. Nothing extravagant; a necklace with some earrings and a couple rings. To say that the three of them stood out tonight might win understatement of the week.

That doesn’t mean her and other people’s reactions didn’t hurt though. They weren’t bothering anybody, nor harassing a little kid. And who leaves a three year old unattended in a store for that long, anyway?

_Don’t let her upset you._ Sonya signs up at Kane, who is clearly upset by her reaction to them.

_Yeah. We know you meant well._   Ra chimes in with a smile.  _Don’t worry, buddy. We’ve got your back._

_Thanks._ Kane smirks a bit, and holds his head a little higher at that.

_Come on, let’s go pay._  Sonya picks up the snacks she’d set off to the side and proceeds in the direction of the counter.

\------

Tank is already waiting for them in a booth when they walk in and waves them over. He’s got his hair braided into tiny tendrils and tied back, trademark grin on his face. The room is alive with small talk and music, which is expected for a Friday night. The lights are dim, while a couple TVs’ drone on in the background with highlights from a recent sporting event.

“Hey! There they are.” The trio sits down, ready to get the night started.

They talk for hours over drinks, about all manner of things. Unbearable clients at work, recent mishaps and embarrassments, things in the news, people they’ve each run into that they haven’t seen in a while. At one point, Ra even recounts an old project he’d written on the ‘Great Emu War’ fought in Australia; swearing up and down that it was true when they don’t believe him.  

\------

“Hey Sonya, where’s your phone?” Tank inquires, taking a swig of his whiskey.

“In my pocket. Why, do you need to call someone?”

“Just pass it here.” That didn’t answer her question. She pulls it out, sliding it across the table to him; careful not to interrupt Kane, who is penning a black design onto her arm.

“Let’s see...” There are the distinct clicks of buttons as he navigates the menu, followed by more clicks.

“What are you looking for?”

“A picture I took.” He squints at the screen, holding it closer to his face.

“You took a picture with my phone? When did you take a picture with phone?”

“Couple days ago.”

 “Of what, exactly?”

“Ah. I can’t find it anyway.” He places the phone back on the table, next to her beer bottle.

She’s about to ask him again when Tank reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of hundred dollar bills, placing it on the table. Kane raises an eyebrow, only to go back to filling in some of the spaces between lines; Sonya still can’t quite make out what the image is supposed to be yet.

“Here.” Tank pushes the money towards her.

“What’s that for?” She laughs, eyeing it with suspicion.

“That crystal.” He shrugs with a smile.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sonya reclines back against the booth; trying not to interfere too much with Kane while he works. She takes a sip of beer.

“Okay.” He leans forward, hand resting under his chin. “That crystal you made.”

“Is he still on you about buying that?”

“Mm-hm. He is.”

“You know what I’m talking about. It’s pretty sick; I can’t understand why she doesn’t make stuff like that all the time.”

“Just... because.” She sighs. “Besides I can’t accept this money from you.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because it’s not for sale and even if it was... I wouldn’t know whether you’re overpaying.”

“I don’t know. He’s pretty determined.” Ra cuts in, glancing over at Sonya.

“Oh, I know he is. But it’s not happening.”

“I’m trying to give you money!” He pushes further, feigning outrage.

“I thought I said it’s not about the money.” Kane decides to take a break from his little project, jumping into the conversation a little lost. Ra helps him get up to speed. Sonya adds, “I just made it. That’s it. End of story.”

It wasn’t even meant to see the light of day as far as she was concerned. Tank had caught her moving it to the house from the car one night.

“It’s not meant for anyone to have.”

“So it’s not for some special client?”

“Nope. Can’t say it is.”

“Cool. Well, I still want it. If nobody commissioned it, then it’s up for grabs right?”

“Never going to happen.” She shakes her head, adding, “And that’s not how it works. But nice try.”

“You need the money.”

“Okay, yeah. Maybe.” She admits. No point in lying about that. “But still.” She has a level of integrity that she lives by, or tries to. Times may be tough, but they’re not that tough.

“How about this then...” He waves his hands in the air, excited. “A bet. Or if you’d prefer, a wager.”

“A bet?”

“Mhm. First one to finish three shots. If you win, I’ll stop asking. Hell, if I lose you can do whatever your little heart desires with it. Burn it. Smash it into oblivion. Toss it in a river. Whatever, doesn’t matter. But if I win,” He taps the cash on the table. “I buy it off you.”

Sonya spins the metal band that’s on her thumb, considering the terms. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch.”

“And you’ll drop the subject. Even if you lose?” Tank nods. She drums the cellphone on the table with her fingers, weighing the terms.

“I’m not hearing a ‘no.’” He comes around to her side of the table, leaning forward on his hands.

“Yeah, well... it’s not a yes either.”

“It’s not a no, though.” He grins, extending a hand. “You in or are you in?”

“Well, when you put it that way...” Sonya returns the smile, before taking his hand in hers and shaking it.

Before she knows it, the drinks are laid out for them: a salted lime wedge and the three shots of tequila to follow it. Ra counts them in, both he and Kane watching the action. By the time she finishes hers and looks up, Tank is already done. He’s sitting there propped up on an elbow with a smug look on his face, eyes half lidded.

“Maybe next time, Sonny.”

She looks away from him, with the high-proof alcohol still heavy on her tongue and frowns; regretting this decision. He’s going to be bragging about this for days, she can tell.

He grins, having popped the green crescent back into his mouth. The corners of her frown curve up, melting into a smile. She can’t help it. The booth breaks up into snickering and fits of giggling, drawing attention from a few of the patrons, a group of guys who’ve had their eyes on them since they walked in. This is also not a bizarre reaction to them. Sonya chalks it up to their quartet being unfamiliar faces. This was their first time in this bar. And it wasn’t like their fascination came to any confrontation or escalations; they just continued on with whatever conversations they’d been having, although she may have caught one of them still keeping a vigilant eye on their table. Another flagged a bartender over for more drinks.

“Okay, you win.” She chokes out, throat still hot and fiery. “I’ll sell it to you,”

If he was going this far, it must really mean something to him. She figures it could be worse. At least in this case, she knew who it was going to. Sonya shakes his hand again, to make it more official.

“On the condition,” She continues, holding onto his hand a little tighter when he tries pulling away. “that it isn’t mine. No marks or anything, especially no pseudonyms. And you have to swear you won’t add any yourself once I hand it over.”

“But. And correct me if I’m wrong. Once it’s mine, it’s mine.” Tank shrugs. “Why can’t I be honest about who made it?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it. At all. I’d just prefer to have a say in the matter instead of finding out later. And maybe a heads up if you decide to in the future.”

“Why?” He narrows his eyes with a smile, there’s a sparkle of mischief there. “Why don’t you want your name on something like that?”

“I just don’t. When it comes to certain things, I want my privacy.” She holds his eyes, matching him in a bit of stare off.

“Okay, deal. I’ll pick it up sometime in the next few days.” She lets go of his hand, dropping her own to the table. “You want the money now, or?”

“It’ll be fine. We can swap when you swing by to grab it.”

“Cool.”

They all continue talking. Her cellphone buzzes a few minutes later, crying for attention. She flips it open and glances at the message before putting it in her pocket again, and rubs her face with her hands.

“What was that?” Ra inquires, arms behind his head.

“Mm. Turns out my night is going to be shorter than I thought.”

“Come on, we all agreed on this. Drinks, movies. Etcetera. Etcetera.” Tank taps his feet on the ground.

“I know.”

“We had everything covered. What do you need to leave for?”

“Plans change. Apparently, I have to make sure I’m back and up for tomorrow morning.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“I’m with him on this. We’ve been planning this for days.” Kane nods his head in agreement.

“I have to make sure someone is at the house. And besides, we can plan something else. What about dinner at my place, next week?” She looks at each of them. “It’s not the end of the world, guys.”

“Why not send somebody else to be there. You don’t have to go.”

“Nobody else has keys.” She jingles them for added effect, Ra bites his lip. “I don’t have to leave yet though.”

“Sold.”

“You guys’ll have a great time without me.” Sonya smiles.

“True enough.”

Sonya really doesn’t get what all the fuss was about, they all practically live together. They see each other all the time. But they understood. She needed to be functional come sunrise, and if she stayed up the way they’d planned, drinking and talking; there was no way that was going to happen. So that was it. The conversation moved onto other things from there. Mainly, back to topics of work and what some of their other friends were getting into.

They decide to order a couple more rounds of drinks before she has to go. When they call one of the bartender’s over, who, at face value is roughly the same age as they are; he asks Sonya for her id. Nobody else’s. Just hers. The guys immediately come to her defense, trying to argue with the man that it’s not right and that she already got carded. Not looking to make it into a problem, she pulls out her id and shows it to the man. Somewhat relieved, he looks it over to assure its authenticity. While he’s doing that, she motions for Ra, Tank and Kane to put their pitchforks away. It was a painless process and she just wanted it done and over with. When he is satisfied, the bartender hands it back to her and walks off.

When they’re done, they split the bill and leave. Kane is the designated driver for the night, so they all take his car back to her place. They intend to crash at Ra’s apartment after, to continue the night as planned. Probably to play video games, watch movies and swap more stories.

By the time they’re dropping her off outside, the liquor is catching up with her. She walks inside, the trio in the car make sure she gets in okay before driving off. The house is colder than the outside, a wall of ice greeting her at the door. Sonya leaves the shoes she’s carried in with her by the door, locking it behind her. The house is dark and quiet, save for the low drone of the air conditioner. It’s been going all day long just to keep the humidity down, but with the sun gone now it’s just making her shiver. She peers through the darkness at the clock on the wall, it’s almost 3 a.m. She considers getting something else to eat; alcohol on an empty stomach hadn’t been the wisest decision of the night.

She walks into the hall, turning on her left into her bedroom. Sonya turns on a tiny lamp in the far corner, bathing the space in a faint glow. She slips off her rings and gingerly plucks the earrings from where they hang, placing them on a shelf. She continues on, rifling through some clothes in her dresser, only to find what she’s looking for: A thick sweater that is perfect to throw around her shoulders, over the clothes she left in.

 When Sonya spins around, she finds a man standing just inside the room, arms crossed in front of him. Her eyes go wide for a second, hands fisting into the garment in her arms. Who the hell is he? Where did he come from? What does he want? He’s taller than her, probably Latino if Sonya were to guess; with a shaved head. Chains of gold gleam softly from around his neck. She bites down on her lips, catches the glassy, blank look she has on in the mirror behind him. She’s trying with every fiber of her being to look like she didn’t just stumble on someone who wasn’t there a moment ago. The man in red and black doesn’t make any motions for her, just looks at her with those dark, attentive eyes.

Her mind wanders to the metal baseball bat she has stashed under her bed for just these occasions. Sonya wonders if she would have the time to whip it out if she were quick enough. Maybe scare him off with it. Or would that even deter him. Thinks better of it; nobody had to tell her twice that tequila and baseball were a horrible combination. Besides, he’s too close for her to get at the bat before he’d catch on. And to top it off, what a stupid place to put it. It was useless if she couldn’t get to it at times like this. Although, it was a better choice than next to the front door out in the open or stashed in the hallway closet, both earlier ideas of hers. Better not give an intruder more weapons to work with.

She makes up her mind, heading out the bedroom door; like she didn’t even see him. Like she didn’t just walk in on the furthest thing she’d hoped to end her night with.  It’s a much better idea to wait out on the porch while this guy does whatever he’s there for, than to stir up trouble. She certainly doesn’t plan on telling anyone if he’s stealing from her. Not like she has all that much to steal in the first place, and as far as she’s concerned he can have it. She doesn’t care.

But there is another man, with hair that sticks straight up. He catches her in the hall, when she’s pulling the front door open. Places a gloved hand on a spot next to the handle, forcing it closed again.

“Mm-mm” He shakes his head, taking the sweater from her and immediately tosses it somewhere by the couch across the room.

Spiky steps backward into the living space, motioning with a flick of the wrist for her to follow. She hesitates, not wanting to see where all this is headed. The one in red is behind her now, insisting from over her shoulder for her to do as she’s told. Sonya looks forward with a frown, unsteady.

_Could really use that bat right about now._


	2. Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sonya has a run-in with the King of Albuquerque. Can she convince him that it's all just a big misunderstanding?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for all of the support! I apologize if there are any issues with continuity or style etc. I'm still learning and am trying to get my style figured out. This is my first fanfic. So please let me know, and I'll adjust as needed. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the next parts.

 

 

The two of them walk Sonya through the living room, down into a dead end office of sorts off the main area. At the bottom of the step just ahead are shelving units full of project supplies. Along the left wall and corner are three drafting tables, accompanied by a stool and an overhead lamp. The right-hand wall is barren, except for a ghostly nine by ten foot portrait of a raven. The leaning canvas covers up the plastered surface. She’d agreed to store it here for a friend in exchange for a favor, while he looks for a new place to live.

There’s an audience of three waiting there when they come in. Two of whom may have been in the bar earlier too: one is a mountain of a man and the other is a shorter, lanky OG type; both sporting shaved heads. And this is the point where her night goes from “bad time” to “tire fire,” and Sonya gets the sneaking suspicion it’s just downhill from here. She reminds herself to stay calm, avoid jumping to any conclusions and watch out for running herself off any cliffs. Might as well see what this is all about first, right? Heh, maybe all they have planned is a quick round of trivia. Not like she has a choice to dropout now.

Everyone else’s attention falls on one person. He’s a stern looking man, tall and intimidating; standing there with his arms crossed. The guy behind her takes up position on her left, while the one who guided her in waits for the signal to proceed. When he’s confirmed with a nod, Spiky Hair steps into her personal space.

“Raise your arms.” He commands as he leans down, getting up in Sonya’s face.

Great, a pat down. Really? It isn’t lost on her, if these guys are bad news it makes sense they’d be cautious. She lifts her arms up, head held high. Hot hands roam over her body, taking their sweet time to dawdle along the way. They discover her cellphone and wallet in her left front pocket; with no interest in the items he passes them over to Red Shirt.

“Where is it?” A voice like worn leather demands her focus.

“Where is what?” 

“The crystal.” He answers. Flat. Sonya blinks up at him, standing at attention though her posture is a little stooped.

“As in... uh...?”

“Meth.”

“Meth?” She gawks. The man nods, slow and serious.

“Meth.” She repeats herself, more for her benefit than theirs. What meth? Who the fuck was telling people she had meth, of all things? Sure, maybe in her earlier years she’d dealt some weed and tobacco, to make a bit of extra cash. But that was a lifetime ago. And meth? Ha! No way in hell. Not this girl. “I don’t.... have any.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His eyes sharpen into daggers, aimed at her.

“I’m not—“

“My guys tell me they heard _you_ planning a drop, right in front of them in some shithole.” He gestures to the men around him, then points to his chest, “In _my_ city.”

Sonya’s brain is racing to keep up with all of this. And she’s still kicking herself for agreeing to that stupid bet. Searching their faces, her eyes settle on the man she’d met in her bedroom. Who, at the moment, is doing something on her phone? Great. Yes, just make yourself at home why don’t you! She’s back to reality when two sets of hands grab either side of her, hiking her back on her heels.

“You’re going to tell me where it is.” Their boss snarls at her, agitated.  

The ringleader reaches into his pocket, retrieving a blade and flicks it open. The two men hold her steady when she tries to get them off. She swallows hard, searching his face.

“Wait, wait! Please. I don’t have anything like that! I’m telling you, I don’t sell that stuff.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“No. Absolutely not.  Whatever they heard... that’s not what it was. Yes, I... I made a deal. But it was for a stupid paperweight, a shiny little... thing! My friend wanted it. That... It goes on a shelf.” Sonya blurts out, exasperated. An attempt to plead her case.

“Don’t lie to him.” Spiky Hair jumps into the mix, adding fuel to the inferno. Earning him a glare from his boss.

“I’m not!” She mutters to the other man, before turning back to his superior shaking her head. “I’m not lying to you. I don’t have it! I don’t have any meth to sell,”

“That’s all it was--!” She exclaims before there are fingers forced into her mouth, owned by one of the men restraining her, to keep her quiet. They taste gritty, and she gives a couple good shin hits to her right in disgust.

She gags and groans around the digits on her tongue. Sonya wants to bite down hard on them and teach this asshole a lesson about putting hands where they don’t belong. But is too preoccupied with the idea of being impaled to follow through. Their terrifying boss rushes towards her, gripping that curved blade.

“Tuco?” A calm, sure voice slices into whatever his next move was, drawing his attention away from her for a moment. Sonya peeks over his shoulder to find the source: it’s the man in the crimson shirt, with her phone still on in his hand.

The boss, Tuco, gives him a long side-glance; refusing to take his glare off her completely. The younger man takes this as an opportunity to step closer and whispers something into his ear. Tuco turns to him, to which he finally nods; and then over to her, eyes narrowed in skepticism. “Keep her quiet.”

“Show me.” He walks away, knife at his side; choosing to continue they’re quiet discussion up in the living room.

Spiky takes his fingers out of her throat, sneering when she scowls at him. Sonya turns her focus to the tile; she doesn’t need help keeping her mouth shut. When she huffs and twists her arms for them to put her down, he gets a bright idea. Guess he came prepared, because the next moment he’s slapped a plastic tie around her wrists. He plays with the necklace dangling against her chest, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. “Hope you like your new bracelet.”

Yeah? Fuck you too, asshole.

The two are still speaking in hushed tones in the den, and Sonya can’t hear much of anything that’s being said. Even without context, she can see how furious this Tuco is. Like a Tasmanian devil or those things on the Discovery Channel, a honey badger? He’s a short fuse with a reputation to back up his intensity, who can give you what for. Whether he’s coming or going, she doubts it would matter. It is a stark contrast to the composure at his side, who is focused and carefully listening to his doubts. His subordinate passes the older man her phone, and he squints down at the tiny screen.

“Where?” Tuco questions him, looking up from the device.

Sonya watches Red stride across the room, and pluck a large figure from where it rests on a shelf; amongst a haphazard pile of scraps and bottles. She already knows what it is. A skeletal monster with empty sapphire eyes, jagged metallic body hunched and curled around itself. Its warped face and head is tilted with a sick curiosity while it looks on. Even in the lamplight, the whole thing shines with an otherworldly purple-blue hue. He turns it over in his hands, catching her stare for a moment before he takes it back up to Tuco.

“This is it?” He scoffs while he inspects, passing the item from one mitt to the other.

“Just like the picture.” His subordinate replies, Tuco sighs at his words. Thinking, he tosses the statuette up and down. The weight of it is nothing to him. “The only one. From the way she was talking.”

They continue deliberating for a little longer, before Tuco catches everyone off guard. Sonya flinches and the rest of the room jumps when the man leans back like a pitcher and flings the creature across the room. It collides with the far wall behind the rest of the group and falls to the tiles with a clatter, shattering into shards. They all look back at him in shock, but the other three quickly recover. Clearly interested in the destruction, he runs over to the spot where its remains landed. The young man in red follows suit, crossing his arms. Unfazed at the outburst.

“Tch. Nothing.” Tuco picks up some pieces of the rubble, disappointed. When he’s done with them, he skips them across the floor like stones.

Does this mean they believe her? So then, they’re leaving. Right?

“Anything else?” Tuco asks, cracking his knuckles. Guess not.

The three guarding her give her looks of suspicion, but she gave them her answer. The younger man overseeing the action shakes his head.

“What about her?” His lieutenant whispers to him, hitching his shoulder in Sonya’s direction. She keeps her gaze straight ahead, eyes wide. Not looking at him, but not away either. The sudden focus placed on her shoulders stirs fear within her. It begins to claw its way up her spine, nails like electric pins into nerves, muscle and bone.

Tuco’s eyes turn into deep shadowy pools. He signals his men stationed around her to step aside. Without a word, they each back off and retreat to opposite ends of the space. All eyes are on them and what his verdict will be.

Having come to a decision, Tuco pulls out his knife again and begins stalking towards her in the dim light. The rest of them, cutting off her only exit. Sonya has nowhere to go, nothing to defend herself. Her life is finished.

“I won’t tell anyone.” She tries. But he’s not hearing it.

He backs her up into the painting against the wall. The fabric resists her some when she leans her body into it. He takes a fistful of her shirt, knife in the other. It gives in when he pushes her further, stretching unhappily. Vertebrae meet partition. The raven, morphs into a strange new beast. The metal in his hand hungry for the first bite.

She closes her eyes shut; not wanting to see what’s to come. Her heart and the world stops in those seconds. A tearing sound louder than her thoughts erupts right next to her head. Followed by another. And another. And another.

She’s petrified, watching this man take deep cuts into the canvas, shredding it into ribbons.

Growls of rage escape him with every strike, gouging out chunks of beast. The sounds, a flurry of anger she has no solace from.  With each one, him reeling back, she’s sure it will be the end. Only for him to adjust, sending the stabs within fractions of her torso and limbs. Several coming _very_ close. Too close. Some may even catch her, but there’s too much going on to notice.

By the time he is finished, that wall is the only thing keeping her up along with his death grip on her tank top. Sonya wants to throw up. She waits, stunned into silence. After an agonized hush, the man closes the tool with a sickening click and stashes it back in its rightful place.

He wraps his fingers roughly around her throat, squeezing the cartilage and bone. She tries her best not to think about just how well her neck fits into the hands of this terrifying man. The floor is nowhere to be found, and she can’t remember when it left. It’s like it just stopped existing, like what will happen to her if he keeps going. Her eyes are wide at him, gasping, begging; Sonya’s hands clutch urgently at his arm. A last ditch attempt to get herself free, but he’s not going to let her have that. Tuco’s grip on her tightens further until no air is coming in.

This is it, she thinks to herself.

The corners of her vision get dark and close in on her, all the rest is a muddled mess like she’s looking through water. He’s really close to her now, eyes unblinking and fierce. This guy, he wants to watch her die, doesn’t he...

 She watches his lips move, but his voice is far away like he’s whispering. Sonya isn’t sure if he’d be the type of guy who’d whisper or not.   Tuco drops her feet back to the tile. His gaze is hard and unrelenting. She has no idea what he just said, or whether his words are a warning, a death threat or otherwise. At this moment, the pilot in charge of her brain is too scared to care. And she’s not about to ask him to repeat himself. Not that she can. 

Without hesitation, she is pushed back into the wall behind her, a tatter of canvas clinging to her shoulders. He growls from deep inside his chest, the calloused hands that trapped her throat now grudgingly release her. Sonya sucks in a short piercing breath through clenched teeth as quietly as she is able, under that sinister look. She hopes he does not hear it, even with such little space between them. Still, every muscle in her body is taut to prepare for another attack. What was this man going to do next? She has nowhere to go, nowhere to hide from him. Terrified, she lowers her gaze to the floor, deciding that she does not wish to see.

Only then does he step away, his footfalls heavy against the floor when he leaves, the others not far behind. For good measure on his way out, Tuco pulls the lamp off its hinges and sending it down from the drywall with a crash; leaving her to sit in the dark. Sonya doesn’t dare look up, doesn’t dare breathe again even when she desperately wants to. She just stands there on lead-weighted legs, her body beginning to tremor in shock. The footsteps fade away into the shadows, and not long after, from what feels like miles away she hears the backdoor shut with a loud bang, making her jump.

In the quiet of the empty house she slumps to the floor, back still against the plaster, and immediately doubles over onto her knees as she gasps and sobs and chokes for air. Sonya just lays there with her forehead and cheek against the cool tiles, hands still cinched firmly together and tears slipping from her eyes. It was torture, every breath in was a fight that she had to claw for, wet and heavy, her chest heaving. But she was alive, she tries to remind herself. Sonya closes her eyes to the sounds of her heart thundering against her ribs. Those men, whoever they were, are gone. And she is alive. Nothing else matters.

There’s a tiny voice that pipes up. What if they come back? What if he changes his mind? Hell, for all she knew they could be back any moment to shoot her house up.

She lays there on the floor, catching her breath for what could have been minutes. Sonya gets to her feet, already missing the linoleum and what little comfort it gave her. She pads up the step back into the living room, stumbling a bit as she makes her way through the pitch black. She bumps her shin into the coffee table.

Under some papers in a small cabinet off to the side, Sonya finds what she’s looking for: An old hunting knife. The thing is older than she is.

She takes it into her hands, sliding the bulky handle between her palms, sharp edge down. Even in the pitch darkness with numbing fingers, she can feel a few of the wear marks and scratches that crater its hilt. For just a moment, holding onto it gives her some security. Familiarity. Hope.

Sonya pads the pin on the handle with her thumb, beginning to have reservations now about this plan. After all, what if this doesn’t work? What if she can’t cut through it? Or better yet, her hands could slip. Cut an artery. Maybe bleed to death there on her living room floor without anyone else around to even care. She inhales weakly with another painful breath before clicking the mechanism, her decision final. The blade juts out, catching her somewhere in the wrist or forearm. She bites her lips stifling a whine, and just hopes in the back of her head that it isn’t too bad. Sonya sits there, crouching on the ground and sets to work cutting the zip tie.

Her progress is slowed by a shadow moving through the kitchen doorway, eclipsing slivers of light from the back window. Oh god. There’s somebody still in the house with her and he’s in the hallway. There’s the creak of a floorboard, just a few feet in front of her. Sonya looks up; preparing herself for whatever might be coming. The man is just standing there. It’s too dark to see any features of which one he is. She nervously grasps the hilt of the knife, fumbles to spin the blade until it’s not pointed at her anymore. She stands. He in turn, takes a few confident strides to his left, closer to the door.

There’s a gentle glow streaming in through a slot above, and she can conclude that it’s the man in the crimson shirt again. He stayed behind. And with him like this, he reminds Sonya of a panther or like a mighty river. When it may seem to be a calm pristine surface, yet underneath, that water is brimming with torrents and waves.

He reaches up to the door; there’s the click of the lock and the metal chain jingling merrily when it’s slid into place. Her stomach is a mess of snakes, like her body has decided to strangle her from the inside. It’s matched with the uncomfortable raw burning and aching that comes with every swallow.

She’s trapped...

... with him.

 


	3. Ultimatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nacho and Sonya have a misunderstanding of their own. And a good samaritan arrives on scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter three! Once again, thank you so much for reading. I'm gonna be honest, I'm not entirely sure on how this one went. But I wanted to put it out. I can't look at it anymore, but at a later date I might come back to this chapter and revise anything major. Like I said, I'm still figuring out my style and learning. So I hope that I don't/haven't butchered characters so far. And if I do, I'm sorry. Enjoy and please let me know what you think! I'd love to hear from you :D

 

“They all left.” He’s put his hands up, palms faced forward.  “It’s just me.”

Sonya’s eyes dart to where the kitchen should be, through the wall. So then why are you here?

“You,” He points to the weapon she has, smirking at her. “planning to do something with that?”

“Wh-why stay?”

“I still have some business here.” He glances around the room, picks up a bundle of herbs from a container near him like it’s suddenly interesting, only to put it back. “Why don’t you put the knife down?”

“I...” She shakes her head taking a step back; feet heavier than she remembers. Like she’s in mud up to her knees. “I can’t.”

“Why is that?”

“I... still need it.” Sonya raises her arms a few inches out in front of her. To make her point, she tries to pull her wrists apart. Nothing happens. They’re still bound with that fucking zip tie. What? Was it forged in the fires of Mount Doom?

She adjusts her grip on the handle of the knife, favoring it for the moment in her left hand because her right is... wet? Little beads of warmth trickle down her fingers and arm before leaping to the gloom below. She does her best to wipe her hand on her jeans.

“How about you just hand it over?” His tone holds a ‘concerned parent to child’ quality to it, like he’s just looking out for her. “Make this easier.”

“Please leave.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” He takes a few steps, closing the gap between them.

“Please. Leave.” She tries again a little more forcefully; standing her ground with her arms still extended. She just prays she looks stronger than she feels, not at her best.

Next thing, he’s reaching for the knife. He must know he’s quicker than her. And she’s slow to react, tries to pull away at the last moment; but it doesn’t work. The man takes hold of her arms, swiveling their bodies, trying to get her to let go. Sonya isn’t quite sure how, but she wriggles free, and turns away from him near the sofa, blade still tucked into her fist. Red’s determined; and is quick to get her again. This time he clasps closer to her wrists, and yanks her arms until they’re high above her head. She yelps at the sudden force, the extension is painful with her forearms twisting with him. He clamps the other arm around her waist, threads his fingers through a belt loop on her jeans and heaves her up over the step that leads down into the studio. Her feet barely touch the floor as the two of them glide across the room, until they’ve landed on one of the drafting tables.

Sonya protests, refusing to give it up. She has to hang onto to it. There’s no question about it. If she loses it now, everything could be over. 

No! No, no... This can’t be happening.

She sobs into the flesh of her arm, face buried as the hunting knife is finally pried from her grasp. The handle must have been too unwieldy for her, after everything. And to top things off, this guy is stronger than she’d given him credit for. Sonya underestimated him. Big mistake.

 “You could really hurt someone with something like this,” He teases, turning the blade over in his hand; she can feel him toss his head at her while he catches his breath. “You know that, right?”

He adjusts his grip on her forearm and repositions himself, moving closer against her body. Gaining more leverage.

She’s filled with dread when he slips the blade into a gap between the tables; only letting go when he’s wedged it in deep enough. It isn’t going anywhere.

Sonya goes still, a long silence passes. It’s broken him exhaling a quiet sigh just above her. She can feel his chest resting against her back with him lying over top of her, his warm breath tickles her forehead. She tenses. Why is he doing this? All she wanted was for him to go away, she wasn’t trying to hurt him. She twists her arm uncomfortably, hands clawing at the dusty surface and blood dribbling off onto it. Her legs are still dangling in search of the floor. The edge of the desk is digging into her hips.

“What are you doing with a knife like that?” He chuckles, curious.

“I don’t know. Maybe it came with the house!” She spits back at him, having few nice words for him. Sonya isn’t sure if she completely cares. But if this guy is planning to stab her or whatever in her own home, she sure as hell isn’t going to make it easy for him.

She steals a chance, thrashes about and wrenching her arms away from him for a moment; snapping the shredded zip tie. The movement also gives her the time she needs to tuck her freed left one close to her side, hoping he won’t notice. The action doesn’t last long; he is quickly back to holding onto her again.

“Rragh... Fuck you!” Her breaths are short bursts. She pushes back against his chest in an attempt to move him off again, but he won’t budge. “Get off...of...me!” She kicks her legs out, catching him somewhere in the thigh. Red makes a pained huff.

With a squeak, he flips her over onto her back. Suddenly the room is a spinning mess; pins back her arms against the desk with one hand. The other placed on the table, forearm up beside her head. His face is awash in shadow and only illuminated by a faint dusting of light. She catches traces of a frown rising to the surface. Other than that, he’s unreadable. That creeping fear is back in full force, hitting her like a freight train.

“Please somebody help--!”

He clamps a hand down on her mouth; exhaling through his nose. Sonya whimpers into his skin. Shakes his head the slightest bit, a hint of danger there. “No more of that.”

Her eyes jump to that stolen knife. Red could pull it out whenever he wants. The question is: would he do that? Is that why he’s here?

Her scream wasn’t as loud as she’d expected, and the only one who heard it is him. God, was that a stupid idea. All the good it did was piss him off. Sonya throws her legs out again, but only catches air. He’s too close now for that trick to work a second time. His body is heavy and warm, blood has rushed to her face. She can’t help but panic now, doesn’t even want to look at him anymore or admit that for another time tonight... she’s afraid. All she wants is to not exist for a while. Hide away. Have some privacy to lick her wounds.

“Hey.” She freezes, head turned to the side. “You ready to talk?”

Silence is what she gives him, since he’s still got her mouth shut. He reaches over and rips the knife out of where he left it. Sonya holds her breath, blood turning to ice. With it held tight, he props up on that arm with his weight against her and the table. Next to her head.

Holding her attention, he slowly returns his left hand to his side. She hears the sound of the knife click closed, and he quietly stashes it in a pocket somewhere. Next, the man removes his hand from her lips. Sonya eyes him warily, instincts half-expecting a backhand as the seconds tick by. Although, that’s more from her history, than anything he’s done.

 She sits up when he starts to step away from the desk; but here comes the arm again. Only this time, it’s an open palm. Spread wide against her collarbone and chest to keep her from going further. Not painful, but firm enough to make his point. He continues his path backward, until he’s a few feet away. That’s when she slowly sits up again, slipping her legs down for her toes to meet the tile. She reclines back a bit on the wooden surface for support, with aching arms. They just watch each other, two opposing shadows now on a left foot. Unsure of how to proceed.

The silence is broken with heavy blows against the front door. So hard, they make the house tremble.

“Sonya! Hey! Sonya, are you alright in there?”

“Shit.” She whispers, eyes bolting to the door.

Sonya looks back towards Red, his calm is momentarily broken by a second of panic but he regains his composure. He’s upset though, she knows that much. She puts her hands up when he makes a move for her again.

“Come here.” With a hand lightly gripping her arm, he ushers her back up into the living room and to the hallway; stopping near the door. “You know him?”

Sonya nods. She doesn’t have to look to know it’s her neighbor, Dwayne. He’s a nice guy, all things considered and she hasn’t had problems with him so far. Pretty authoritarian though, not really someone she’s bothered to spend time getting to know. The guy’s a former veteran who served in Iraq, and was shipped back because of an injury. He lives a few houses down with his wife and three kids; not to mention he and a few others keep a lookout for trouble around here. The two of them don’t talk much; but she sees his other half Cherie and their oldest son often enough.

She checks through the peephole just to be sure.

“Do... you want me to send him away?” Sonya whispers up to him. His stare drips with skepticism, jaw tight; clearly listening to Dwayne as he pounds on the door, calling for her. “I can tell him everything’s okay. He’s not going to leave until... I-- uhm...” Those dark eyes flick over her body, then back up to her face. Weighing the proposal.

What was Sonya saying? Right now, she couldn’t get someone to lend her five dollars. Forget lying to Dwayne’s face about being in all of this shit. But what was the alternative? He’ll call the police if she doesn’t open the door. And then where will they be? It’s the only chance she’s got. Sonya just has to hope that the man next to her isn’t about to shoot Dwayne in the face the moment the poor guy gets suspicious.

“Alright.” Instead of stepping out of the way, he leans with his back against the door. “But...”

She gasps when he pulls her closer by the waist, right hand hooking a piece of the belt on her hips. He gives the strip of leather a few light tugs at the back, to emphasize his point, “In case we have second thoughts.”

And that’s the way he has her answer: his face inches above hers but just out of sight. Waiting there and listening cautiously to everything Sonya does. Cuz you know, no pressure or anything. What could go wrong?

Outside, the scent of the parched nomadic earth flows on a breeze. A dog yowls from a couple blocks over and there’s a buzz of electricity off in the void. Dwayne is like a statue on the little porch, clearly distraught and agitated.

“Hey. Sonya, didn’t you hear me? I’ve been pounding on the door and screaming my head off out here like an idiot.”

“No, yeah. Just tired. What’s up?”

“Well, you know...” Dwayne shifts on his heels. “Uh, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just... wanted to check on you. Do you mind if I come in and chat for a bit?”

Yeah, I--... I actually do... mind. I was just headed to bed. I’ve been having trouble sleeping so.... Why did something happen?”

”No. Well, I don’t know yet, that’s kinda why I’m here. I was up trying to get my youngest back to sleep and I notice some guys leaving your house in a big hurry. Didn’t recognize ‘em. Thought maybe theft or a fight. May I ask what that was all about? Do you need me to call someone down for you?”

“Oh, that? No, no no. Those were just some people I know from back home.”

“Oh, yeah? They just showed up out of the blue like that?”

“Yeah, it’s funny. I heard from a friend, that they drove in from out of town the other night. And I’ve been so busy with work; I was worried I wasn’t going to get to see them. But, you know... luckily they stopped in for a bit on their way to another party. So it all worked out.”

“You just seem... out of sorts. And the place looks a little--.” He’s right. Sonya’s hair is probably a mess, with no idea how red her face is from crying. Hopes it isn’t a total give away. She’s thankful he can’t see the damage inside from the porch.

“Aw, c’mon Dwayne. There’s gotta be a time, before the kids. Back overseas; drinking with the buddies. Chasing girls. Roughhousing.” Sonya laughs, straining to leave out any nervousness or unease. “You know! Sometimes things can get crazy and... a little out of hand.”

Dwayne considers that, scratching his head. The older man is about to give her a rebuttal; when she quickly cuts him off.

“It’s nothing I haven’t handled before. I’m used to it!” Sonya waves her arm about in the air, nonchalant. Wishing she had the power to bat away all of his questions and doubts.

“Are you... bleeding?” He grimaces, shocked; pointing to her hand. Sonya looks down. The dried crimson is an almost black in the peachy light.

“What? Oh! This? No. No, the other day I was using dyes at work and—whoops! Some of them can be a real bitch to get out. Skin. Clothes. All kinds of stuff.” She shrugs, smoothing back her hair with said hand; probably getting blood all in the strands there. Along with the carpet, tile, and Gods know where else by now.

He just sort of nods his head at that. Eyebrow way up there and mouth half open. She prays that was quick enough thinking for it to make more than a sliver of sense. And that he can’t see what ever bruises around her neck and wherever else.

“Uh-huh. And you’re sure I don’t need to come in and make sure?” Dwayne is getting a little more forceful, trying to get a better look inside while he makes the effort to get a foot in the door. Sonya does her best to keep him at bay.

When he gets too close for comfort, a pointed tug steals some of her breath. “ _No_. Really. Its fine, I’m fine. I appreciate your concern but there really aren’t any problems. Now...” With caution, Sonya places a shaky hand against that hidden forearm.

“It’s been a long week and I’m pretty.... hammered; if I’m going to be honest here. And what I really, _really,_ want right now... is for this day... to be over. And between you and me,” She shyly steps further behind the door, looking down at the floor then back up at Dwayne with embarrassment. “I’m, uhm... not exactly, ‘presentable’.”

“Oh... Oh! Right, yeah absolutely.” He practically falls down the steps at that, only to regain a shred of composure on the concrete. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Couldn’t be better.” She flashes a wide, tired smile. Dwayne kicks the step, before giving her a shrug and a nod.

“Well, alright then. I’m glad to hear it. Sorry for keeping you up.” He waves goodbye to her, walking off the porch and down the street towards his home. “Enjoy your night.”

“Yeah... night.” She calls back, although she doubts he heard her. She watches until he’s made it back inside.

Did he buy it? Was that all it took for Dwayne to believe her? Her gut twists. Torn somewhere between relief and accomplishment from sending him on his way, and despair, because she is now alone again and the man was right all along. Sonya just stands there watching the empty sidewalk with her heart in her ears, gripping the edge of the wood until her fingers sting. Left with no other options, she shuts the door again; and rests her forehead against it. Eyes shut tight.

“Are you going to lock it or should I?” He’s still got a fistful of her belt. She shudders at his hot words on her shoulder.

“What are you going to do?” Sonya asks, neglecting his question entirely. Before the words tumble from her mouth, she’s already decided she doesn’t want a response. The lock turns at her coaxing, exit blocked once again.

“Have a seat.” He nods towards the couch, letting go of the strap and crossing his arms in front of him. There’s a moment of hesitation before she complies. Sonya makes her way to the love seat instead. It’s closer and gives her more room to get away if this goes bad.

“This you?” Standing over her, he pulls out her wallet and takes in her license. “Sonya Nimenez?”

“Yes.” It’s actually ‘Niemiez’. But just like with his boss, she’s not about to correct him. Not right now anyway. He tosses the leather case onto the stand.

“How’s your throat?”

“Mm-hm,” Better now that there isn’t a lunatic strangling the life out of her. The skin there is tender and angry.

“I didn’t mean any disrespect... before. To Tu--, to your boss. I am sorry... for what happened and...” It won’t happen again. If she lives through this, Sonya will make sure of it. “... what are you going to do...?” She repeats herself, exhaustion hitting her like a lead pipe.

She wonders if she’s slurring her words and how much he’s understanding, given the leaps in her thoughts.

“Tuco,” He clicks his tongue, tilting his head to the side. “left me to clean up the mess. See that we have an understanding.”

Is that all she was now? A mess? A problem to be stamped out, like the ember end of a cigarette. Just a loose thread. Shivering, she nervously chews her fingernails.

“I don’t have any meth, and he made himself very clear.” Sonya whispers, shaking her head. “...I wasn’t lying to him. You don’t need to do this. You don’t.”

Red makes his way around the room. Coming to a stop next to the couch against the wall, reaches down and pulls the cable connecting to the landline out of the jack. Goodbye phone.

“You’re here so I don’t talk.” Sonya hits a metallic taste, her mouth is dry. “Make sure I don’t call the police or something stupid like that.”

“You won’t?“

“No.” Because she doesn’t have a death wish. “After just now, with Dwayne? Never going to happen. Cops and I are not, and never will be on speaking terms. Period. Problem solved.”

“It’s a little more than that.”

She puts her hands in her lap, finding a sudden interest in his shoes.

“Was that true?” The man in crimson hitches a thumb towards the window. “What you said before?”

 “What?” Which part? What did she say before?

“How many drinks have you had?” Straightening his back, he attempts again. Hands on his hips. “Let’s try a different question: How drunk are you right now?”

Sonya shakes her head, mouth open and searching his face for where to begin to answer that. Come to think of it, she hasn’t had a moment since she walked in to know for herself. And what about her answer? Does she really want to tell this guy? Uh-uh, probably not.

“Okay.” He rolls his lips together, wetting them with his tongue. His voice holds that same calmness as when he’d spoken with Tuco. He takes a seat across from her on the edge of the coffee table. In reality, all it is is a couple cinder blocks for the legs, with an old board across the top. “I’ll keep this short.”

“Years ago, Tuco started selling to these guys up in SF. Mafia or whatever. Every two, three weeks, they’d send someone down with a payment for the next batch. Just like anybody else. Always on time, money’s all there. Count it. The difference? They’d send their cash in these clay pots.” He approximates with his hands, two feet tall. Give or take.

“One day, Tuco asks him, ‘what the hell is up with that?’ You know? So he tells him, they’ve got some old guy working for ‘em who could get their stuff through any airport. Money, drugs and all that. X-Ray, dogs; didn’t matter what. And according to him, nobody else knew how the old man was pulling it off and he wasn’t gonna give it up. Then just a few years back, the business changed hands on their end. The ones who took over, kept buying anyway. So we kept selling. But after that we never saw those jars again.”

“Guess what it looked like, though. When we’d bust them open?” He reaches into his front pocket for something, and then holds his hand out to give it to her. When Sonya cups her palms together, he places it there for her to see. Pointing to it. “Just like that.”

One side of the piece is smooth, the other has many bumps that jut up out of nowhere. The satin part plays a tiny melody when she brushes her skin across the surface; its glassy portion stays silent. It’s a shard, from the creature. At some point, he must have picked it up.

“A few things are different but besides that, it’s just like his.” He steals a glance of the carnage Tuco left, narrowing his eyes. “You knew him?”

“Yes.” Sonya forgets herself and answers honestly.

“The cops have been on our asses, trying to keep us from selling out of state. So far we’ve made it work but it might be only a matter of time. Tuco knows he needs a new way to ship his stuff out, something under the radar. Invisible. With this? Sky’s the limit.”

So that’s why that psycho didn’t go through with it. Then all of that before was what? Posturing? Just a sample of what he can do? Step out of line and you know where I’ll put you? Yes.

“And he’s not asking. Is he?” She sucks in through her teeth, pulling herself closer. He doesn’t need to say it. She shuts her eyes, nodding. “I’ll need some time. I have a space that could fit. There’s a few things I’m missing, but I can get them.”

“How long?”

“Two... three days?” That should be enough.

Sonya carefully gets up from the lounge, and begins fishing in a box on a shelf. She finds what she’s looking for. He watches her every step of the way, then when he’s ready promptly stands up.

“This is the place I’ll be setting up in. That’s the address. It won’t look like much. Uhm, that’s where you can find me.” She hands it to him, hand vibrating. It’s a real estate card, for a building in the industrial sector.

He eyes her and the card for a moment, and then silently takes it. Hiding it away. Sonya presumes for safe keeping.

“We’ll be in touch.” Are his final words before he disappears down the hallway, leaving out the kitchen door into the night.

Sonya checks and double checks the locks, then falls back onto the sofa. Her body and head heavy like a ton of bricks, laying there in the darkness alone. She just stares up at the ceiling, the phantom lights of her mind dancing through the air for her. She doesn’t pay them much interest, lost in thought. What did she just agree to? Who are these people that have just walked into her life?

She plunges into an uncomfortable slumber with only the silence they’ve left in their wake.

**Author's Note:**

> Crucible  
> defined as:  
> • a ceramic or metal container in which metals or other substances may be melted or subjected to very high temperatures.
> 
> • a situation of severe trial, or in which different elements interact, leading to the creation of something new.


End file.
